


Experiment : Human

by breathing_exe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Foreplay, Gay, Gay Sex, Gratuitous Smut, Human Experimentation, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Porn, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Sexual Content, Sexual Experimentation, Sexual Humor, Sexual Tension, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes Experiments on John Watson, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlock Holmes and Experiments, Smut, Top John, Top John Watson, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:20:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26433274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breathing_exe/pseuds/breathing_exe
Summary: “Okay, that’s it!” John’s impatience blared out with his words.“I have dealt with a lot of your ‘experiments’ Sherlock, but having an actual breathing human bein-““Shh!” The dark haired male cuts in, not sparing a glance at his roommate in the doorway.“By god, he has gone mad,” John whispers hysterically. Questions and assumptions flood his mind but he forces himself to ignore them. He wanted to fully enter his home before falling ill. He knew, with Sherlock, he would never get a straight answer. So he’ll save his energy for dealing with his odd friend, alone.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 6
Kudos: 119





	Experiment : Human

**Author's Note:**

> Comments really help so if you can leave one, it would be really appreciated. (Sorry I've been gone. College has started and I have been working on this for months. I'm really proud of it :D)

“ **Okay, that’s it!** ” John’s impatience blared out with his words. 

“I have dealt with a lot of your _‘_ experiments’ Sherlock, but having an actual _breathing_ human bein-“ 

“ _Shh!_ ” The dark haired male cuts in, not sparing a glance at his roommate in the doorway. 

“By god, he has gone mad,” John whispers hysterically. Questions and assumptions flood his mind but he forces himself to ignore them. He wanted to fully enter his home before falling ill. He knew, with Sherlock, he would never get a straight answer. So he’ll save his energy for dealing with his odd friend, alone.

God, it was just the most peculiar thing. Sherlock’s eyes rake along the moving hands in front of him. _“Move them a bit like this,”_ and _“Does it hurt when I hold it like this?”_ were whispered as Sherlock grips the other man’s hand, touching it and intertwining it with his own. 

Nothing could explain why this random man agreed to partake in...whatever Sherlock was doing. What is the story behind him getting in this situation? A wild one, John wagers.

After heating up a cup of tea he was relaxed enough to endure Sherlock’s vague explanations. Explanations that lead to outbursts that contain a fraction of what he needs to know. Despite this infuriating fact, he has some time today for leisure and he will not let a stranger get in the way of that. 

Sherlock tenderly grips the man’s hands, turning them palm up. Something must be bugging him terribly. Why else would he be so precise? He abruptly squeezes the other’s wrists. The bloke was still confused but his chest rose sharply, eyes staring the detective down. The poor lad was just as baffled by the other as John was. 

“Sherlock if you don’t explain, I will actually conk you over the head with my mug.” 

With an aggravated sigh the detective releases the man’s wrists and sits up straight, turning to his flat mate. 

“Thank you but you may leave now.” Sherlock speaks at the stranger, without bothering to turn away from the doctor. 

“...Alright.” The stranger mumbles as he gets up, looking back at the two strange men before closing the door. 

“So, have you got a thing for hands now?” John jokes, bringing the mug to his lips. 

“Well, I would have asked you to help me with my experiment,” Sherlock’s voice was sharp, trying to cut at John.

“Then why didn’t you?” 

“One, you ask mindless questions, which infuriates me. And 2, it’s simply because I did not wish to bother you.” Sherlock’s posture was always proper but right now he seems far stiffer than normal. 

“And it seems you have been quite busy lately.” John doesn’t comment, instead asking a question of his own. 

“Who was that man?” He didn’t mean for this to turn into a row. Either way, the end results are always bittersweet. 

“Some Joe Bloggs that I snagged from outside.” Sherlock says, making his way to his chair. 

“Poor bloke. Couldn’t imagine what he might be thinking.” The doctor chuckles out into his mug before taking another mouthful. 

“And what are you thinking?” This was odd. John was never asked about what he thought unless it was prompted by Sherlock’s leading questions. 

“Honestly, I have been quite miffed lately and just wanted to come home and relax, you know? This is my home too.” John rakes a hand through his hair, nerves igniting at finally speaking his truth. 

“That’s all then, right?” That's Sherlock for you.

It feels as though nothing you say is ever enough. John lives with a man who can twist and turn the mind of a lag for fun. Getting them to spill every detail to him without even realizing they’re doing it. It’s beyond exhausting. 

“I find it weird that your first live house experiment is some bloke and the only thing you do is stare at his hands.” John’s voice echoes defeat, exhaustion settling into his posture. 

“I just don’t understand why you find this a matter of importance.” All he wants is to know what the other’s doing without this dance of avoidance.

“Why does it matter that it was a man?” 

“My goodness...you really are trying to make me go to spare! For once I want a simple bloody answer!” John’s blood boils. 

“To what query, exactly?” That absolutely _stupid_ look on his face. The detective’s features were devoid of humor but John knew the other was thoroughly taking the piss out on him. 

“What is this whole human specimen experiment about and why hands?” 

There was a moment of thought behind Sherlock’s eyes. He leans back into his chair and lays his hands across his stomach, giving John what he wants. 

“Although I have extensive knowledge about the human body, I have never gotten the chance to observe a live human specimen up close. Yes, medically I have seen live tissue with my eyes but I never actually personally...” His statement trails, his eyes averting his flatmate’s. 

“You know I do not enjoy being ignorant of something. I believe this is the most logical way for me to learn.” Sherlock speaks as if his thought process were normal, John’s mind completely baffled. 

“By snagging a person from outside and asking him to show you his hands?” 

“Obviously I knew he was harmless.” Almost uncharacteristically fervid, Sherlock continues,

“I hope you understand I wouldn’t intentionally put us in danger.” The detective emphasizes his point to John’s confusion but oddly enough he felt himself be reassured by that clarification. 

“Okay, hands. Why hands?”

“It’s as simple as having to start somewhere.” 

What was he going to do for the next step in his experiment? Will the same man come back or another random person? He wanted John to help him initially which is way better than just having some stranger in the flat every time the other was craving information. 

“Then let me.” The detective crosses his arms skeptically, intrigue glimmering in his eyes. 

“At any point while I’m home you suddenly have the urge to stare at hands, just use me. I don’t want anyone I don’t know in the flat. Just give me a little heads up before you do your weird stuff.” John waves the other off as he speaks, his discomfort reflected in his pinched brows. Sherlock’s silent for a good while before nodding. 

“Well, John, you are now one of my experiments.” With a slight confirming nod John drinks the rest of his tea as Sherlock exits the living room. 

| | 

As night approaches, John washes off a day’s work and makes his way to the telly. It’s just the best part of the night, watching colors flash on the screen with a dosing head. With his mind half asleep he hears Sherlock’s unhurried footsteps head towards the kitchen. 

“Hey! Can you grab me a glass of water?” He hears the tap open and shut, the detective making his way towards him. 

“Thank you.” John smiles sleepily and grabs it from his hand, taking a large gulp from it.

To his surprise, Sherlock plants himself right next to him on the sofa. He usually stays in his room at night when John watches the telly.

He holds out the rest of the water as an offering but Sherlock politely declines, his eyes following John’s hands. 

“Everything alright?” The doctor voices unsteadily. 

“Of course. Just looking.” Ah, so he wants to start his experiment then. 

“So... would you like my hand or something?” Sherlock nods wordlessly. John sticks out his left hand and returns his attention back to the idiot box. 

Sherlock grasps his arm and lowers it down a bit, relaxing the other’s exaggerated posture. He flips John’s hand palm side up, his head tilting as he examines. Gently grabbing the other’s hand from underneath, he uses his other fingers to rake across the skin of John’s hands. Each of the doctor’s fingers were traced down and back up, making the hair on his arms rise. The reaction caught the detective’s eyes, making him stall for only a moment. Sherlock presses his thumb against his thenar, a small pleased noise coming from John. He does it again.

“That’s nice. You’d be good at massages.” The doctor mumbles out, enjoying the repeated pressure Sherlock applies to his hand. Using four fingers, the detective trails over John’s palm, getting a stifled laugh in return. 

“I’m sorry, I know I’m your test subject and all but it tickles. I can’t help it.” Without a reply, Sherlock reaches over John, grabbing the cup of water he got him and dips a finger in it. 

Deciding not to question it, the doctor ignores the other until he feels a cold finger trace his thumb, making most of his fingers twitch. Holding John’s hand in both of his own, Sherlock adds pressure upwards, the added water making the slide easier. John hums,

enjoying the massage. Dragging back downwards Sherlock reaches his wrist. Easing up his grip, he rests over the skin there. John was going to ask but remembered if he did it would be one of the reasons Sherlock didn’t pick him in the first place. At this point he knows everything has a meaning so he just has to trust his friend. 

From John’s wrist his hands went in two directions. His left massaging up towards the other’s fingertips and his right slipping lower on John’s exposed arms. Not once did Sherlock’s eyes shift from the skin under his hands. 

“You’re cold.” It was then John noticed just how warm the other’s hands were on his skin. It was as if pointing it out made goosebumps suddenly appear. 

“Huh, why do you say that?”

“See, now you have goosebumps. Would you like me to turn on the heater?” The world's most clueless detective points at his arm.

“No, no it’s just all the attention my arm is getting.” John’s body turns more towards the other, unconsciously trying to steal the other’s warmth. Sherlock seems satisfied with his answer and nods, continuing his exploration of smooth skin

“I know alot about you, Watson. But now I feel like I know even more.” Irrational fear blossoms inside of John’s stomach, implications making him feel flighty. 

“And what do my hands say exactly?” The doctor is nervous but he has his doubts. How much could he possibly have found in this short time? Nothing interesting, he bets. 

“Your trigger finger is very stable. As it ought to be.” Sherlock traces said finger as he continues on. 

“Your palm is surprisingly soft meaning you pay close attention to this area when washing and moisturizing.” Again he trails four fingers down his sensitive palm, making John’s lip twitch into an impressed smile. 

“I can predict the movement you’d make with your hands when cleaning them.” Sherlock releases John’s, moving his own exactly how the other washes his hands. 

“That’s really weird.” The doctor chuckles out, only a small bit of fear lingering. 

“Your thumb was strained at some point in your life due to a sibling inflicted incident. Blackmail I presume? You're unconsciously hesitant about that area to avoid further damage to it, twitching other fingers in defense. But with me, only slightly since you trust me.” 

John huffs at the remark, “I doubt trust has anything to-“ Sherlock squeezes the base of John’s thumb. Impulsively John’s other fingers curl towards the pressure. 

“You might be right. Probably just pressure then.” Sherlock sucks his teeth in disappointment but he does not sound entirely convinced that he was wrong. 

With an eye roll, the doctor faces back towards the television. Sherlock’s hand drags along the expanse of John’s skin, stopping at his arm’s pulse point. 

Glancing over, John watches as the detective sits still for a good while. Sherlock removes his left hand from underneath and lets John’s arm lay limply over his lap. Using his now free hand he drags his nails across John’s palm, down his wrist and watches as it turns a definitive pink, his other hand not leaving the doctor’s pulse. 

“I don’t mind you asking questions. It lets me verbalize my thoughts.” How did he...?

“Oh, uh. Why did you scratch me?”

“Because you like it.” 

Like rocks hitting a bottom of a sack, John’s stomach drops. 

“What the hell are you on about, Sherlock?”

It’s dumb to get defensive but when shit like that comes out the blue, it’s jarring.

“You’re getting angry when there is no need, John. I know your masculinity is fragile but I was merely stating observations.” 

Yeah, he’s all mouth and no trousers. Observations my ass, John thinks. He is just trying to mess with him. 

“Your arm began to shake as I came closer, so I noted your neutral heart rate and,” Sherlock’s eyes roam the other’s face as he speaks. 

“As I scratched you, it quickened quite a bit.” The detective’s face held the smallest traces of humor, making John’s brows raise in surprise.

“That could just mean I was shocked.”

John tries to shake off the grip on him but is startled still when Sherlock leans forward. 

“You watched me. And everyone and their mum knows what happens to your eyes when you enjoy something a bit much.” John wants to hide and obnoxiously sing ‘la la la’ at the top of his lungs. Sherlock’s glare makes the blonde’s face heat up

Behind John’s chest his heart pounds as the other moves his hand over his bicep. It was too much. 

“Sherlock, let go.” The detective’s grip noticeably loosened but was still there. 

“But my experiment-“ 

“If you haven’t noticed, _I’m_ your experiment talking and I’m saying let go.” He lets go and John leaves for his room. 

That couldn’t have been more of a disaster 

| | 

A full week passed since the uncomfortable ‘arm incident’ happened. The weekend rolls in and Sherlock is itching for a case, or seriously anything, to occupy himself with. Right as John comes through the door Sherlock is up and heading out.

“I just got back, where are you heading off too?” Disbelief was written on John’s features at the concept of the other leaving so suddenly.

“Lestrade called. It may be a sorry excuse for a case but I can’t stand not doing something right now.” John notices the tension in Sherlock’s face and the billions of thoughts that were running behind his eyes. This type of erratic deduction was dangerous, because it usually ended with Sherlock using after being clean for so long. 

“If it’s so simple just call him and tell him what I know you already know. Let’s go out and eat. Then, if you’d like, you can continue whatever your experiment is.” 

At this, Sherlock’s eyes finally focus on who he’s talking to instead of trying to get past. Seems like that was exactly what he needed to hear. 

| |

“Fine, yes I'm doing great. I know you wanted to see me but- yeah I get it. Okay, the butcher didn’t do it so let the poor bloke go. Yes I’m sure. The blood was really the woman’s but it was put in the butcher’s freezer. The real culprit is the cashier. Bloody hell _yes I’m sure_. Yes okay, bye.” The detective sighs at the device and shoves it aggravatedly into his coat pocket. 

“Your boy toy wanted to see you, huh?” John smirks. 

“Which one?” Sherlock asks with fake genuine curiosity. John nearly chokes on his own spit. 

“Shall we?” The two men finally enter the warmly lit restaurant.

_Tierra Brindisa_

“Evening Billy,” John says as he enters. Sherlock greets Angelo charmingly, who leads them to their usual table with an amused grin. 

“Why Doctor Watson and Sherlock Holmes, after so many years you still enjoy our food.” He calls over a staff member, asking them to add a complimentary dessert to their usual order. 

“You two are a part of the family.” Angelo reaches over and ruffles Sherlock’s hair. John shifts, noticing the detective’s concealed discomfort. 

“We are quite hungry. Just the usual please and thank you very much for the desert.” John takes the liberty to order and hands their menus back to Angelo.

He leaves with a smile and John and Sherlock are left alone. It’s funny how long they have been coming here but never spoke about the very first time. Even the memory of it makes John smile.

“Do you still recall our first time coming here?” Sherlock picks up his napkin and wipes down his utensils, just like every time they come here to actually eat. 

“You’re aware of who you’re talking to?” The snark in his tone was barely concealed, making John laugh. With a small smile Sherlock takes John’s utensils and wipes them down as well.

The doctor fondly recalls what he remembered. So much had happened the day he met Sherlock Holmes.

“I thought it was quite funny that Angelo assumed we were a couple.” John whispers out humorously, as if saying so was scandalous.

“Perhaps.”

“Honestly, I wish I were as carefree as you.” It was true. No comment could phase Sherlock Holmes, he could care less.

“It wasn’t worth my time to correct. We were on a case.” Sherlock leans his chin on his intertwined hands, waiting to hear the other’s response. 

“I mean we weren’t together, I just wanted to make that clear to him.” John smiles but averts his eyes from Sherlock’s perusal. The detective completely disregards his statement. 

“Wasn’t this outing about forgetting work and distracting me?” John’s blood drains from his face. Remembering the night must have reminded Sherlock of the poison incident he didn’t get an answer to. When he told John what happened he couldn’t understand why the answer was so important to him. 

“I’m just trying to have a conversation.” An uncomfortable laugh escapes the doctor as he tries to deescalate the situation. 

“Sure.” His posture became stiff once again, silence falling around them until their food came. 

It wasn’t until their meals were right in front of them that they realized just how hungry they were. It feels like ages since they had time to sit down and eat. 

“One of us really has to learn to cook.” John sighs dreamily as he shovels an eating iron full of food in his mouth. 

“What do you mean? We both do.”

“No, I mean actual meals. Not quick makeshift junk. You know how to heat stuff up, that’s all. You can’t argue with me about this, Sherlock.” 

“Hmm.” Sherlock takes a moment to think. It is a pretty valuable skill to have. Even learning a few simple dishes could fix their petty bickering. Their energy has been so low because of poor nutrition. The task was already done and achieved in Sherlock’s mind. 

John’s brows knit as he watches the other man rake through the food on his plate. The doctor actually starts to feel a bit queasy, his pestering making him think the detective found something unfavorable in his meal. Deciding to change the subject, he brings up the experiment. 

“This experiment is an official one, right? I reckon you have a hypothesis?” John doesn’t know what to expect. All he is trying to dig for is some clarification and to be on the same page as the other. Although the detective could be unbearably obnoxious at times, his mind still fascinates John. 

“I don’t see it fit to have a hypothesis, in this case. If I were to make an educated guess it would very likely be true. Not to be chuffed, but that’s usually the case. This experiment is just for my own up close examination. No more, no less. I’m not trying to cure you or pleasure you but if you do show signs of something troubling I will not hesitate to bring it up.” John is frozen to his seat. Of course he expected most of what Sherlock said but his rashness was startling. 

“That’s...good to know.” Hearing some information lifts a weight off John’s shoulders and they finish their meal, leaving in a much better mood. 

Oh and who can forget their free dessert! How could someone possibly leave in a sour mood after chocolate mousse?

| | 

Their flat is greeted with their smiling faces, the London sky having poured on them minutes before they made it inside. 

“What is our luck? We go enjoy ourselves only to then get absolutely sopping wet.” John says with no real displeasure. He simply slips off his wet coat and reaches for the other man’s, who thanks him. The building rumbles pleasantly, the storm hidden just outside.

“What are you going to be doing now?” The abrupt question makes John fumble their coats.

He was just planning on showering and then writing on his blog before heading to bed. 

“Nothing really.”

“Perfect.” 

| | 

John enters his room freshly bathed. He stops drying his hair, noticing that the detective is using his laptop on his bed. 

“What are you doing?”

“Recipes, John. Steak and balsamic salad.” With a quick glance over, he memorizes the list and plans the exact date and time he will begin cooking. 

“You? Cooking?” John tosses the towel to the side. He changes into sweats and a tank top shamelessly while his flatmate is busy with the computer.

“Why not? Seems simple enough. I reckon two days at most to learn the basics?” Sherlock’s statement is mumbled more so to himself than the other man. John plops down next to his friend on the bed and snatches the laptop away. 

“That honestly looks really good.” 

He minimizes the tab and goes to his blog, continuing where he left off. A hand goes for his arm and he looks up in confusion. 

“I can’t look at your hands if you're typing, so I’m looking at something else.”

John was honestly quite nervous. He was once again under the scrutiny of his brilliant friend, of course he was a bit hesitant. But he ignores him and looks back at the laptop in his lap. The hand grazes upwards over the muscles of his bicep and squeezes. Another hand joins alongside the first, encapsulating a ring around his whole arm. He drags down until he reaches the steady hand that wasn’t typing. 

“Continue.” 

“I can’t type if you’re holding my whole arm.” 

“Then what should I move on to?” Sherlock reaches for him as he questions, squeezing along the doctor’s shoulder. John’s jaw noticeably clenches as Sherlock grazes his fingers over the other’s long healed injury. He doesn’t stop there. He slips his fingers under the strap of John’s tank top, shifting the fabric to the side as his hand continues up its path to his neck. His fingers press into the muscles there. Easing off, Sherlock keeps his hand at the base of John’s neck. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Hm?” John’s eyes slip open from their previously shut state. 

“Oh, yeah yes fine. We’re all good.” We were not fine. Far from it. His flat mate was touching all over him. The attention was getting to his head, he couldn’t look the taller man in the eye. Show anybody outside of this flat what’s happening here and they will all think the same thing. 

“That’s good,” a rough knead makes John confess out loud, an unsteady laugh following. Sherlock leans down, attaching his lips to the warm skin of his friend’s shoulder. 

The doctor jolts back, 

“What did you…?! Sherlock what the _actual_ hell?” John’s mind replays what just happened, not believing that it was real.

“An experiment needs to cater to all senses: sight, sound, smell, taste and touch.” 

“You’re mad! Absolutely mad! How did you expect to test all these things?” John’s stomach flutters erratically, his mind screaming at him to find a way out.

“I’m insane? You gave me permission to use you for my tests but act surprised when I do just that. Stop conjuring up things that don’t relate to what I’m actually doing.” Sherlock's voice is stern, infuriating the doctor further. 

“What _are_ you actually doing?! You had your bloody lips on my shoulder! How is that not related?” 

Sherlock moves the laptop off John’s lap and swings his leg over the other’s hips. The doctor freezes.

“I used a random person for my exploration but then you willingly volunteered. My motives are clear, and if you don’t understand that... well, I’ll find someone else.” It was all too much. John is incapable of looking away as the other speaks. It was as if a spotlight followed the detective around, heating up the doctor’s skin. 

“You’re still married to your work, right?” John attempts to joke, his words wavering. Sherlock’s eyes travel over the other man before landing back on his eyes, nodding. Hearing the words out loud made John realize something, 

Right now he _is_ his work–his literal experiment. 

“I understand things too, Sherlock.” The dark-haired man straightens up, crossing his arms. 

“Do you now?”

“I’m your favorite specimen.” The detective’s passiveness visibly falters. 

“What? That’s not-“ 

“Why else did your whole mood light up when I told you I would do it? That our meal was finished and I wasn’t going to do anything?” John leans up, trying to push Sherlock to deny anything he was saying. It startles the taller into uncrossing his arms. 

For the first time Sherlock stays silent. Only the breaths they nearly share can be heard. John’s skin vibrates as the seconds draw longer. The position they are in, how needed he felt. Sherlock’s eyes slip into slivers as his stubbornness and intent writes itself clearly on his face. He wasn’t letting it go either, it seems. 

Sherlock’s eyes travel over the column of John’s neck, where his hand previously was. He lowers himself a small bit, making John fall back onto his elbows to avoid the detective. Sherlock cages John in, hands and knees holding his weight above the other. 

He’s teasing, that’s the only explanation. But, Sherlock doesn’t make jokes like these. He leans down so close, only to not do anything. It can only be described as that: _teasing._

‘Just do something’, John’s mind screams. But did he actually want that? It’s when Sherlock reaches out to touch his face that he confirms it. Hell yes he wants that. His thumb traces the man’s jaw before delicately holding his chin. John’s eyes widen in disbelief. His breath catches as Sherlock lowers himself, gently pressing his lips against him. Panic fills every inch of John’s being. Overwhelmed he pulls away. Without a moment of hesitation Sherlock cups the back of his neck, bringing him back for a deeper kiss. An audible sound comes from John’s throat, the detective pulling away. 

Sherlock keeps his eyes off the other as he makes space between them, sitting up. 

“That was...insightful.” The detective quietly comments, getting a sarcastic laugh from the other. 

“Now you’re going to tell me that you kissing me is also unrelated?” It takes everything for John to keep his voice steady, his eyes burning over the other's physique. Something has been ignited inside of John and Sherlock has the audacity to deny everything he throws at him.

“I was testing taste, yes.” That’s fucking _enough_. John shoves at the obnoxious detective, getting a confused scowl back. Seeing the other so offended by his push makes him do it again, the tall man’s frame barely budging. 

“Do something, wanker.” John demands. When the doctor tries pushing at the other’s shoulder again, Sherlock snatches both of his wrists. He’s pinned to the bed in seconds, their bodies strung tight at again being so close.

“You’re tampering with my data,” His grip tightens and John’s hands clench into fists. His wrists will undoubtedly brandish a faint mark or two. With a quick full bodied twist, John breaks free and Sherlock falls face first into the bed below him. 

His legs hold the detective down, a victorious laugh coming from John.

“John…?” The doctor doesn’t speak, one hand holding the detective’s hands behind his back. He bites his lip at the sight, having the other like this making his stomach flutter.

“You don’t have control of your experiment?” A cheeky smile slips onto the doctor’s face despite the other’s inability to see it. 

“I thought you accounted for all variables?” John trails his hand up Sherlock’s back. His muscles tense under his touch. He pulls his dressing robe down slowly, his ears catching the detective's shaky breath. His arms start to shift, becoming restestless in his hold.

But there is no resistance. 

“You still manage to surprise me.” Sherlock’s voice draws the other in, dark curls lying against the bed. John’s nails trail down the other’s pale skin, pink marks following. As the seconds pass, the detective’s will to fight begins to trickle in. John leans down, lips pressing against his back all the way up to the nape of Sherlock’s neck. 

“Do you want me to let you go?” The doctor has no idea what comes over him, but he nips at the back of Sherlock’s ear, feeling him shiver below him. 

“I don’t know.” At this he releases his grip, trailing that hand up the detective’s ribs. With a parting pat, John rolls off the other. Sherlock rises up, confusion in his face as he watches the other plug in his laptop. The sight was almost laughable if it didn’t turn John on so much. The robe barely covers his chest or shoulders. His messy curls perfectly frame his pouting, slightly rosey, face. 

“You never say that, so I know something’s wrong.” Sherlock visibly scrambles within his mind before pulling a pillow from beside him, chucking it across the room. It hits the other man square in the face, making him stumble.

“What was that for?” John laughs, picking it up and tossing it back onto the bed. Sherlock doesn’t bother to answer. He plants his feet firmly on the mattress, his form curling into his knees as the other climbs under the sheets. 

It was unusual to see the detective’s anxious ticks. His fingers hid under his curls, moving with his touch. 

“So, you’re not going to comment?” John sighs out. Moments pass by without a sound. 

“If you’re going to sleep here be sure to turn off the light.” The doctor gets comfortable, back facing the detective. 

The shorter of the two closes his eyes, oddly finding comfort in knowing the other was in his room. When there seems to be no intention from Sherlock to move, John opens his eyes slightly to peak. Eyes meet his before darting around and returning again. 

“Okay, what is it?” John sighs out, sitting up.

“It’s still relatively early.” 

“It’s 10 pm, Sherlock.”

“I was wondering if we could continue?” John scratches at his own hand, thinking carefully about how he should respond. 

“Continue if you’d like. I’ll be sleeping.” The detective’s visibly confused as he watches the other climb from under the sheets to on top. John pulls over a throw blanket and flings it at Sherlock’s chest. 

“Cover me when you’ve finished, yeah?” He fluffs the pillow under his head, eyes falling closed. The first thing he feels is fingers intertwining with his own. It was to be expected so he lays limp, trying to fall prey to the dream world. That doesn’t last, he gets pulled back to his body. The bed’s weight shifts and John feels a presence over him, his body stilling in response. His other hand is held and a kiss graces his cheek. John’s heart jumps, a sentimental feeling in his chest growing as kisses line his jaw. He holds his breath, his chin lifting on its own accord. This only helped the other on his journey down his neck. 

His skin is sucked. His breath shakes, the detective feeling it against his lips. _Taste._

“It’s alright, go to sleep.” John’s eyelids flutter against his cheeks, teasing words are whispered into his skin. The other’s body hovered inches from him. Sherlock chuckles into John’s neck, his skin heating up from all the attention. His chest was so tight he couldn’t respond. A knee softly presses between his legs, spreading them slowly. The doctor’s eyes shoot open, his hands squeezing the other’s. Sherlock quickly places his legs back over each side of his hips, stopping any advancement. 

“You’re going to keep going?” John asks in all seriousness, drowning out all unrelated thoughts. Sherlock’s mind falls into complete disorder, his mouth not knowing how to reply. He couldn’t think with the other so close to him. Does his tone insinuate that he doesn’t, in fact, want to? John sees the wheels turn behind his eyes. He admires the other greedily before it’s obvious he has to speak up. 

“Sherlock?” He is never one to be left speechless. But it seems like all the words he wants to use intend to fail him. So, he speaks with his actions. 

He releases his grip on John’s hands. One lays by his head and the other is placed on his chest. He feels John's heart pound against his hand. Leisurely, he trails his hand upward, cupping his jaw. 

“Would you be opposed to it?”

He couldn’t be serious, John thought. But he was definitely being touched by his friend who was most _definitely_ getting hard. Confirming his suspicion Sherlock ruts against his thigh once. A deep heat blossoms in John’s stomach, the action unenxpected and erotic. His hands reach out for the other’s hips, trying to bring him back. 

“Not really.” John voices airly. He is only able to pull the detective in just the smallest bit closer, the taller being stubborn. Sherlock rakes his thumb over John’s lips. This teasing was too much. The doctor turns his head to kiss his hand, his thigh lifting up to feel the other’s cock above him. A breath is forced from the detective’s lips. John presses up into him again, bringing his friend’s thumb into his mouth. It startles John when Sherlock pulls his hand away. His thigh is lifted, pressing harder against the detective’s arousal. 

“I’m sorry,” The detective pants out between them. “It feels really nice.” Sherlock rolls his hips into the muscles of John's thigh. 

“Have you,” John feels the hold on his thigh tighten, his thrusts getting rougher. 

“Ever been with someone like this?” John gently stops Sherlock and centers him until he rubs against his clothed cock. Their hesitant grinds are hidden under Sherlock’s unraveling robe. John grips both sides of the bottom of his friend’s robe, twisting it in his hands. Pulling down on his new handles, John guides the other’s movements against him. 

“I, haven’t...no.” His response was choppy, his curly hair falling in front of his eyes. The tie around his waist completely fails under John’s grip, revealing miles of Sherlock’s torso. Only a thin layer of underwear separated him from rubbing against John’s sweats. The sight drove the doctor mad, the detective’s hands reaching out to pull up his shirt. It was slipped up and off of him effortlessly. Sherlock’s hands move down to grip John’s hips, lifting them up as he rolls down. A wet spot forms where they rub enthusiastically against each other. 

The bed rocks at their force. Mewls threaten to spill from John’s lips so he clamps a hand over his own mouth. Another thrust against him comes in, his eyes rolling closed. His hand holding back his sounds is gripped and pulled to the side. Subdued moans are let out, John trying to bury his face against the bed. The only thing that gets John to open his eyes is a low moan coming from the other. _Sound._ He feels a large bead of cum dribble from his tip, down his cock. 

“We can stop at any moment.” John nods in understanding, his eyes finding it difficult to look at the other without cumming. Sherlock’s deep moans make him impossibly harder. 

John brings his hands around Sherlock’s hips, pressing him firmly against him. He circles his hips before angling his cock to press against Sherlock’s cheeks through their remaining clothes. The feeling was new, the detective hesitantly pushing back. The heat from John’s cock makes itself known, even through sweatpants. 

“I’ve never done anything like this before.” Sherlock’s voice was steady despite his slow, no, _agonizingly_ slow grinds. John struggles to respond, licking his lips at the show in front of him. 

“What if I don’t like it?” John chuckles at the worry in Sherlock’s voice. This gets a confused look from the detective. As punishment he stops his movements. With an eye roll John pushes Sherlock onto his back. 

“Bastard.” The detective says without even a hint of malice. John makes his way down the other’s body, his hands spreading Sherlock’s legs in front of him.

A flush begins at the detective’s neck as John completely passes his cock. He feels prodding at his hole, a wetness following. Sherlock feels eyes look up at him. Right as he looks down he feels John’s tongue press into him through his underwear. His leg juts in John’s grip. His hands tighten, pulling Sherlock’s into his tongue. It wet the fabric, his tongue playing against his rim. John watched the detective hesitate before reaching for his hair. _Sight_. His grip was gentle, making John raise a brow. With a finger he moves the fabric out of his way, lapping at his hole properly. Sherlock’s eyes widen, his grip tightening immediately. 

“John-!?” The doctor hums in response, enjoying the sight of Sherlock’s hips lifting on their own accord. 

“Ha…” The detective huffs out, John’s tongue piercing him. He thrusts his tongue inside a few times before pulling out, pressing it flat against his entrance. 

Sherlock’s chest rises and falls erratically, John catching a break to move back for air. He lathers a finger in his mouth before pressing it against his hole. 

“Are you still alright?” Sherlock leans up a bit on his elbows, his breathing still not back to normal. 

“Yes.” Unable to help himself, John rises up and presses his lips against Sherlock. Long fingers curl into his hair, their tongues meeting. _Touch._ Sherlock lays back, bringing the other man down with him. John’s finger returns, rubbing against the other’s fluttering hole. Nails press into his skin. 

“Trust me,” he whispers, laying his head against Sherlock’s. With a slow push he was entering the detective, watching his expression carefully. Sherlock’s brows raise, his lips parting. John breaches his friend’s tight entrance and presses in deeper. Sherlock’s eyes lock onto the others lips, his pupils engulfing the color of his eyes. He licks his lips as John curls his finger. Rising up, Sherlock presses appreciative kisses against the other’s lips. 

The digit was pumped in and out of him, his cock jumping at the feeling of it once again curling inside of him. 

“Please…” Sherlock’s eyes screw shut, his hips moving to fuck himself on his flatmate’s finger. John slips out of him, leaning over to rummage in his drawer before pulling out lube. He coats two fingers. 

“This might be cold.” John slowly pushes two lubed digits into Sherlock. He leans down, swallowing the detective’s moan as he crooks his two fingers. Repeatedly John presses his fingers against that special bundle of nerves inside of him. Sherlock pants against John’s lips, his body jolting with each press. 

“More, John…” Sherlock’s wrecked voice grumbles out, saliva glistening on his chin. John pulls out completely, getting a relieved sigh from the taller man. Still, the dark haired man shivered under him. John slips off Sherlock’s underwear. Sweat covered both of their bodies, the detective’s cock an angry shade of red. 

With a weak hand Sherlock reaches out to slip the waistband of the other’s sweats down, revealing his cock. Once John was freed, Sherlock’s hand wanders to grip his cock, tugging to watch the man tense up. Stealing the taller man’s hand, John turns his palm up and squeezes lube into it. The detective lathers John’s cock, allowing him to fuck into the tight circle he made with his hand. He takes his time to feel the weight of it in his hand, his hole clenching in anticipation. 

He releases and rubs the remaining lube onto his entrance. John rakes his hands along Sherlock’s thighs, parting them more. The doctor’s stiff cock rubs against the other’s hole before pressing forward. Sherlock’s tight opening givesm John's tip making it in. Burying himself in further, his friend’s walls tighten. John leans down, careful not to go in any further. He guides the detective to his lips, running his tongue sensually against the other’s. John’s cock jumps inside of Sherlock, making the detective moan. 

John fucks his tongue into the other man’s mouth, pushing in further. The lube makes the slip easier, his cock filling the detective up. Sherlock’s walls clench and flutter around him, any movement sending him into a fit of shakes. To John’s surprise the other lifts his legs to wrap around his hips, angling him deeper. Experimenting, John slowly pulls out. Sherlock’s head slams back as he renters. 

“Big...” The curly haired man mumbles as if he were drunk, his mind spinning as John begins to circle his hips. John smiles at the compliment, giving him a few ‘thank you’ thrusts. 

“Want you...everywhere.” The detective takes four of John’s fingers in his mouth. He groans in response, abruptly snapping his hips into Sherlock. The detective's moan was barely muffled. He swirls his tongue around and between the digits. John’s hips tilt back, fucking in. Sherlock’s teeth bite into the other’s fingers, tongue returning in apology. As punishment John begins thrusting into him properly. 

Sherlock’s jaw goes slack with a moan, fingers slipping out. With each thrust his body rocks up, his back arching. He pulls the other in close with his legs, making him thrust into him as deep as he can go. A groan leaves him as John presses right into where he wants him, toes curling. 

“Right there?” John says smugly. Sherlock’s eyes are permanently squeezed shut, his brows knitting. 

“Don’t stop.” Sherlock demands barely above a whisper. John smiles, kissing his cheek as he circles his hips into that very spot. The grip on his cock tightens, he’s too close. Right as he sees the other’s balls tense up between them he squeezes the base of his cock, stopping the other from cumming. Sherlock moans in protest, his dick twitching and fighting against his grip. John slips his cock free and lightly rolls a spent Sherlock onto his stomach. He bends the others left knee, dragging it up the bed before positioning himself right behind him. Grabbing more lube he slicks himself up, sliding right back into Sherlock’s tight heat. 

The angle renders Sherlock mute, John pounding his insides. Only cut off moans leave the detective, his hands reaching out to claw at the bed below him. His body loses control, throwing his hips back into the other man’s thrusts. A moan is worked out of John,the feeling overwhelming. Without trying, Sherlock’s body clenches around his friend’s cock, begging for cum. Their hips smack audibly against each other, Sherlock’s insides born for taking cock. John’s member enlarges further, cum shooting out to paint Sherlock from the inside. His abdomen quivers, hips drilling into the other as spurt after spurt makes a mess of the other’s insides. John laughs shakily with a sigh as he rakes his hands over Sherlock’s ass, pushing his last bit of cum into him as deep as he can. 

He slips out, an obscene amount of cum dribbling out. Sherlock’s thighs shake as John flips him back over. The smile wouldn’t leave his face as he notices tears of ecstasy pooling from the other’s eyes. He presses a sweet kiss onto the shaking man’s lips before going down on him. He takes the detective’s painfully hard cock down his throat without hesitation. 

“Uh!” Sherlock calls out, his grip returning to John’s hair. He half heartedly attempts to pull him off. His grip tightens as two fingers are pushed into him. 

“I can’t...take much more, John.” Sherlock whines out, his body seizing up at everything the other does. John just hums humorously around his cock sending sweet vibrations through his body. His orgasm rushes over him suddenly, a sob wrecking through him as he shoots thickly down John’s throat. The doctor’s eyes were pleased, his throat fluttering around Sherlock as he swallowed down every bit. His fingers run against his prostate one more time. Sherlock chuckles in his overstimulated glow, playfully pushing John’s head away. That doesn’t stop him from sucking until he gets the last drops out of him. 

“It's becoming too much.” The detective rumbles out, John letting go of him with a pop. With eyes screaming of admiration, he trails his tongue up the other’s spent cock before circling his tip.

“Mmh…enough.” Sherlock hums in response, pulling John up by the hair to kiss him. 

Their lips lock, their bodies slotting together longingly. Every inch of their skin touched.

“We should experiment more often.” John quips, beaming down at the other. 

“Most definitely.” Sherlock says with a sated stretch, draping his arms over the other’s back. The _smell_ of sex lingers in the air as they laid comfortably in each other’s arms. 

| | 

_2 weeks later._

“I can’t read this, I can’t possibly read this.” John pushes his own laptop away, avoiding his partner’s eyes. 

“John, quit making this difficult. Don’t you want to read my conclusion?” 

“I don’t give a shit about your conclusion. Your experiment was far from valid so you’re not going to embarrass me any further.” Their stomachs were full with the detective’s perfectly prepared dinner. Despite their bickering, they jested playfully. With a downright _evil_ expression Sherlock gets up to sit on John’s lap, force reading out loud to the other. 

_“My findings were interesting to say the least. I had not expected to learn about this part of myself. Regardless, I can confirm that this experiment ended with promising results.”_

John smiles, wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s waist. 

“Very promising, indeed.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for your feedback! Reading the comments helped me look at what I could improve. I fixed one issue but I will be coming back to improve it once I have time (finally in college, woop :D) I hope you can find enjoyment in the existing fic written here, it will be altered quite a bit in the future. Once again thank you for the helpful tips.


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